


Two Years

by TeaHouseMoon



Series: Ficlets [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Ficlet, Greg Lestrade - Freeform, Implied Johnlock, Implied Relationships, M/M, Masturbation, Sherstrade, handjob, past Johnlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-18
Updated: 2016-02-18
Packaged: 2018-05-21 12:45:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6052138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeaHouseMoon/pseuds/TeaHouseMoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I can't believe he had all this.” Greg’s voice was strange, different. Still deep and soft; but with an edge to it. </p><p>Sherlock kept his eyes closed. </p><p>“He had you. And he didn't do anything about it.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two Years

**Author's Note:**

> This is a very short ficlet I wrote one day - the Muse, somehow, wanted me to get this bit of Sherstrade (with Johnlock!) out. Hope you enjoy!

The hand on Sherlock’s belly stroked slowly. Strong, thick fingers traced the abdomen, the lines of muscle downward to the groin that were invisible to the eye, but definitely evident to the touch.

The thumb grazed Sherlock’s glans for a moment; then the whole hand wrapped around his cock, fingers big, and warm, and careful. Guiding.

“I can't believe he had all this.” Greg’s voice was strange, different. Still deep and soft; but with an edge to it.

Sherlock kept his eyes closed.

“He had you. And he didn't do anything about it.”

Greg didn't come closer. Didn't lean in, didn't ask for a kiss; just looked at him. And, had he been willing to open his eyes, Sherlock would have seen a soft gaze, and a mouth in a gentle, almost sad smile.

The hand stroked again, squeezed. Fingers twisted gently, thumb stroking the tip, precise, and very, very careful – just the tip, just right there, intense, but brief enough, like a gentle tapping – and the palm almost enveloped him all, held him.

“Some men have all the luck.” Greg’s other hand touched Sherlock’s jaw, held his chin gently as his thumb stroked over the full lower lip. Sherlock felt like bucking up, bucking him off; but Greg’s hands and his body and his voice were warm, solid. _There._

He opened his mouth instead, let Greg’s thumb caress him again. A touch that held no demand whatsoever; just care, reverence.  
_Awe._

The hand twisted again slowly, the thumb stroked the tip more insistently. The long fingers held and pulled, calm and controlled. Lestrade watched him, so intently. Waiting to see him come; and Sherlock decided to let go. Give in; give himself to him.

He opened his mouth, breathed with Greg’s strokes, let him guide his body into oblivion. Let Greg _tame_ him, _just for once, just this time. Just now._

When Sherlock came, breathing was difficult, but he just felt Greg watching him and so he breathed with him, gave himself a few more seconds without control. When Greg’s hand returned to his mouth – still open, still begging for breath – his thumb stroked, wet, over his lower lip. Sherlock’s tongue licked, obedient. Tasted himself on his own mouth.

“Why the hell did he leave you…”

The eyes that had remained shut, stubborn, opened then. Sherlock went tense in lieu of an actual rejection; set his jaw, hardened his gaze.

Back in the moment, back in reality.

_Please leave me be._

The hands left his body, and Greg smiled, sadly, but let him walk away.


End file.
